Waiting In The Wings
by Gatergirl79
Summary: The sequel to Withdrawal. John's trying to deal with his feeling for Sherlock when a face from the past threatens their future and push him to breaking point. SLASH. JohnLock.
1. Chapter 1

**A/N: Well here it is, the sequel to Withdrawal. It won't be as long as the previous story. **

**I hope you like it. Special thank you to my Beta Saysesydo.**

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**CHAPTER ONE**

"Sherlock!" John called as he walked up the stairs to the flat, his hand painful under the weight of orange plastic shopping bags. "Some help would be good." He entered the living room to find it looking like a bomb's hit it, toys and papers strewn all over the place.

John marched into the kitchen, dropping the bags on the unnaturally clean table top. Gasping for breath, he headed into the bedroom to dispose of his jacket. The room wasn't much better than the living room. John's bed lay near the wall, made and tidy. Sherlock bed however was the completely opposite, the sheets a tangle and strewn all over the place. John couldn't believe that after a year of sharing a room with Sherlock he hadn't been able to get the man to clean up after his bloody self. He groaned as he bent down to lift the discarded sheet off the floor, dropping it back onto the center of the bed.

Life with Sherlock since he'd returned from the dead was so different from how it had been before. Not just because they shared a room, but having the children added a strange domestic element that hadn't been there before. Weekends were about them being a family, watching the afternoon movie on a Saturday, Sunday lunch with Mrs. Hudson and Harry. Taking the kids to the park, grocery shopping. All in all, as much as John hated to admit it, they were a normal family.

One thing that differed from what the world would consider normal was that their weekdays and sometimes nights were taken up with tracking down criminals and solving crimes for Scotland Yard, as well as the odd private case. Things hadn't gotten completely back to normal work wise for Sherlock. Some people still doubted his abilities. John still got spam and trolls attacking his blog, which was back on the top internet search list. But for the most part, they did their jobs and came home to their kids.

The only thing that cast a shadow over their lives, well, over his relationship with the detective, was that he was still struggling with his feeling for the man. Over the past year they'd been getting stronger and more confusing by the day. He'd been expecting them to fade away. He'd kinda hoped that they'd been a result of all the turmoil over Sherlock's return and everyone's insistence that they weren't just friends. But that hope had been proven floorless when after a few months of peace and normality, when everyone stopped mentioning it, he still found himself watching Sherlock longer than was considered appropriate, still lay awake every morning before getting up to see to Beth and Junior, smiling at the sleeping figure in the next bed. That's when he'd realised they were very much real, and very permanent.

Now he just tried to make his way through life with Sherlock without letting on. He knew he was still in denial, and he was fine with that. It wasn't like he got himself off with thoughts of the detective in his head. He still wasn't physically attached to him, well not to the point of actually doing anything about it. He was just emotionally attached. Which meant the likely hood of having a long term relationship with a woman was almost unthinkable. - That however didn't stop him dating. If you could really call it dating when you went out with girls you knew were easy.

John was pulled from his contemplation by a loud bang that had him racing out of the room and down the hall stairs. He burst into the basement flat to find Sherlock stood at the battered table, safety glasses covering his eyes and a smoking flask in his hand.

"Dammit Sherlock!" he yelled, "What the hell are you doing!"

Sherlock had turned the basement of 221B into his own little lab, much to Mrs. Hudson's frustration. But since they'd brought the house from her six months ago, she really couldn't complain. She still lived there, rent free. Sherlock had insisted on that. After all, the woman was family, and Baker Street would fall without her.

"Working obviously." Sherlock grumbled, placing the exploded test tube on the table.

"Working? And precisely what case requires you to blow the place up?"

Sherlock ignore the question and went back to his '_work'_.

"Where are the kids?" John asked, walking around the table to see just what Sherlock was blowing up.

"Mary and Mrs. Hudson took them to the park. I needed to do this."

"As long as you're priorities are straight strait," John grumbled heading back to the door.

"I am fully aware of my priorities John," Sherlock sighed, turning to face his friend, pulling off his glass as he did so. "I was not aware they were meant to come in a specific order."

John met his gaze in the doorway. "For most '_normal' _people they do."

"Enlighten me. What is the '_normal_' order of priorities?"

John narrowed his gaze at the detective, unsure if Sherlock was actually ignorant or just playing such. "Fine. - Family, work, everything else," he said, marking the points with his fingers, a frustrated gleam in his gaze.

"I see," Sherlock smirked.

"Bastard."

Sherlock's laughter followed the doctor out of the small flat and up the stairs. He should have known the man was winding him up.

The detective appeared at the kitchen door a few minutes later, wiping his hands of a piece of rag and watching John put the shopping away. "How was work?" he asked causally.

"Same as always."

"Dull." Sherlock sighed.

"To you, yes." John replied, opening the fridge, glad that there was nothing but milk and cheese inside. Sherlock had his own fridge now in his lab/office, so there was never a risk of Beth getting hold of a disgusting body part. - Unless Sherlock purposely gave it to her, which had only happened once.

"Oh, don't pretend it doesn't bore you too John." Sherlock smirked, heading further into the kitchen.

John turned and looked up at his flat-mate who was stood a little too close for his liking. "I - I…enjoy helping people Sherlock. I became a doctor for a reason." he swallowed, swiftly skirting around the detective.

"You do more to help people as my assistant than you do as a doctor John." Sherlock started, turning as his friend moved around him. His brows furrowed. John had been skittish around him for month, and while Sherlock could read his friend like a book, he chose not to, which was very difficult at times. But he'd come to the conclusion that John needed a semblance of privacy, so he avoided watching the slightly older man's every move and expression. - At least if he could help it.

Sadly now was one of the moments he couldn't stop himself and had seen, just for an instant, the nervousness in him. The way he unconsciously pulled his lip between his teeth and the way he skirted around him with erratic breath. To say Sherlock was confused by this reaction would be a lie. He knew what it meant. - He just wasn't sure what it _meant_. So decided his best option was to ignore it. Whatever was troubling John would be dealt with in time, when the man was ready.

"I wouldn't say that Sherlock. I can save lives as a doctor."

"You save lives as a detective John. How many of the criminals we've stopped would have gone on to kill again?"

John glanced over at him from across the table, a spark of acknowledgement in his gaze.

"Besides John, you're just a part-time GP, it's not as if you're on the front lines again. Today alone you dealt with four cases of the common cold, two children with inner ear infections, a man with erectile dysfunction… and if I'm not mistaken, a young woman with what she suspected was a heart murmur but turns out she just wanted to get her clothes off in front of you." He looked John dead in the eye.

"But it could have been a heart murmur." John defended. "I could have saved her life."

Sherlock huffed with frustration. "And she could have saved you're time," he said a little too harshly as he marched into the living room. "I just don't see why you don't quit and come back to working with me full time."

John leant on the back of his chair. "Listen Sherlock, as much as I love solving cases, I need something else in my life. If there's something I've learnt, it's that I can't live in your pocket, I can't let you be everything."

The two men stared at each other across the room. Both knowing John was referencing the breakdown he'd had after losing Sherlock. How it had almost cost him his life.

Sherlock grunted finally. "Fine."

John smiled. "Fine." He turned and headed back to the kitchen. "Tea?"

"Please."

**~SHERLOCK~**

Sherlock was settled in his chair with his laptop, adding the data he'd collected from his experiment, John sat across from him a cup of tea pressed between his palms, when the familiar sound of the front door resounded through the house, followed swiftly by the sound of footsteps.

John glanced up over his mug as Sherlock logged off his computer and stood to relocated it to the desk. He dropped back down on his chair, steepled his fingers beneath his chin and waited.

John didn't even try to stop the smile spreading across his lips at the subtle excitement that rolled off Sherlock. The detective's joy at the return off the children always brought a smile to the doctor's face. Once he would never have believed Sherlock capable of the connection he shared with Beth and Junior. The only people he'd ever seen Sherlock be even the slightest bit nice to, other than him, and that depended on what he wanted, was Mrs. Hudson. So seeing the way he was with the children was rather a revelation that was still a little difficult to get used to at times, especially for those around them. Mycroft and Lestrade always seemed to look at Sherlock like he'd grown a second head when they walked in to find him playing with Beth. Mrs. Hudson on the other hand seemed not to even notice.

John wondered often if it Sherlock's absence from their lives, his three years travelling alone - Well, relatively alone, that woman was never mentioned. - had anything to do with the change in him. John would most defiantly say it was a change. Sherlock wasn't the same man he'd been when he'd taken that step off the hospital roof.

John stared at Sherlock contemplating just what had changed about the man. Trying to put his finger on it specifically, but he couldn't. Sherlock was still so much the man he'd first met, rude, obnoxious, arrogant and utterly overwhelming. But at the same time there was a calmness about him that was only brought out when Beth was with him.

John was still contemplating that thought when said two and a half year old came rushing into the room. Heading as always straight for Sherlock's lap. John watched with a warm smile as the little girl practically leapt into it. At first, John would admit, Beth's ease and almost instant choice of Sherlock as her favourite had put his nose out of joint. After all, he'd been the one to raise her for the first year and a half before Sherlock bloody Holmes marched back into their lives, but the look on both their faces more than made up for it.

"Sheelock." Beth cheered as she rushed to the detective.

He looked down at her with a passive stare that to anyone who didn't know him could be mistaken for contempt or disgust, but that's only because they didn't look into his eyes to see the pure joy that shone in the unique bluish green. Sherlock didn't lift the girl, he just opened his arms so they were resting on the armrests, shifted his long lanky body and waited for the little girl to climb into his lap. John smiled into his mug for a moment before turning as Mrs. Hudson and Mary, their nanny, strolled in. A small boy in Mary's arms.

"How was the park?" John asked causally, as Mary put Junior on his feet and the boy toddled towards John. While Sherlock had Beth's full attention on a daily bases, John had Juniors.

"It was alright," Mary smiled, "Mrs. H was scared we wouldn't have a house to come back to." She laughed, dropping down on the couch.

"Believe me, dearie, my concerns are well founded." the older woman sighed, glancing at Sherlock who sat listening as Beth rambled on about what she'd seen at the park. A soft content smile slowly spreading over her face at the sight.

"You almost didn't." John laughed; lifting the one year old into his lap.

Mary laughed and Mrs. Hudson rolled her eyes. "Do you boys need anything?"

"No thank you Mrs. Hudson, we're fine."

"Alright dearies. See you later." Then the older woman strolled out of the living room and down the stairs to her flat.

Mary got to her feet and looked at the small family with a grin. "Well, I'll be going too, leave you all to your family afternoon."

John rolled his eyes at her. Mary was his worst enemy when it came to their 'family'. He was more than sure she was pushing the word and all it meant on purpose to get some kind of reaction, though he wasn't sure what. Hopefully she didn't know about his….crush, for lack of a better word. Though the way she looked at him sometimes said she suspected.

"Thanks Mary."

She was heading for the door when John suddenly remembered.

"Oh, Mary, sorry but will you be about to stay late next Friday." John felt Sherlock's questioning gaze burn into the side of his face. He also felt it deduce his reasons for asking maybe to extend her work hours. He kept his focus on Mary, not wanting to see the look in the man's eyes. "I….erm….have a date."

Mary seemed to be surprised by the news, though he couldn't think why, he did go out on dates. But every time he mentioned it a shadow passed over the red-heads gaze. "Oh." she glanced at Sherlock for a second but nodded. "Sure."

"Thanks." John smiled tightly with a nod.

"Well, I'll see you…Monday."

"Bye," they all said in chorus, making the young woman smile.

John turned back to Sherlock, meeting his genius gaze and knew he'd already figured out that the woman he was seeing was a divorced mother of two, a teacher at the local primary school that he'd met through the surgery. Where her son had come because on a sprained ankle three weeks before and that he'd bumped into her while getting the shopping. He waited for the revelation, with added insult but there was only silence. Sherlock turning his attention back to the little girl in his lap and John couldn't ignore the clench of his gut.

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**A/N: Well, how was that for an opening chapter?**


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N: Thank you to my Beta Saysesydo, your a wonder :D**

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**CHAPTER TWO**

Sherlock stared down at the email he'd received that morning, thankful that John didn't share his need to pry. He knew without a doubt just how he'd react. With his elbows on the table and his fingers steepled against his lips he re-read it over and over. Unsure of what to do.

The deep clearing of a throat caused him to jump, a reaction that had Mycroft's brows rising in question. Sherlock closed his eyes for a moment and wished his brother would vanish. Sadly the older man was still stood in the doorway leaning his weight on his umbrella.

"What do you want Mycroft?" he said tersely, closing the laptop.

"Can a brother not drop by to say hello and bring gifts for his nephew and niece?" Mycroft smiled smugly, holding up the _Harrods _bag.

Sherlock looked from the man to the bag and back again, meeting Mycroft's gaze determinedly. "Thank Adrian," he sighed, turning in his seat.

Mycroft shrugged. "That is what assistances are for Sherlock, I am much too busy to be buying toys."

Sherlock scoffed. "Especially for children you don't even like."

Mycroft huffed, dropping the large bags on the couch. "I will not have this conversation again Sherlock. I was merely pointing out the logical problems. That has no relevance to my feelings for Elisabeth and Sherlock."

Sherlock rolled his eyes. His brother was the only member of their strange little family that insisted on calling the pair by their proper names. No matter how confusing it was.

"You did not answer my question Mycroft. What do you want?"

The older Holmes stood staring at his brother for a few moments before dropping into John's chair.

"How is work?"

"Don't be tedious Mycroft. Just say what you came to say and leave. The children will be home soon and I'm sure you do not wish to be here when they return."

"Don't get involved." Mycroft stated calmly, rolling his umbrella in his fingers.

Sherlock schooled his features. "Involved in what?"

"Now who's being tedious? I mean it Sherlock, for everyone's sake, don't get involved."

Sherlock met his brother's gaze. "Are you ordering me not to take a case?"

Mycroft huffed, seeing the spark of determination in his brother's eyes. "No. - I'm _asking _you not to."

Sherlock examined his brother's features closely, seeing the dark rings beneath his eyes and the anxiety within them. "You're in trouble."

"Just stay out of it Sherlock." Mycroft repeated leaping to his feet. "Give my best to John and the children." Then he strolled calmly out of the flat, leaving an increasingly intrigued Sherlock.

**~SHERLOCK~**

John strolled out of the bedroom fixing his tie. "So you think Mycroft's in trouble?"

Sherlock looked up from the floor where he sat with Beth and Junior playing. "He's worried about something that is affecting his sleep but I'll need more data before I can say what it is."

"So you're going to help him?"

Sherlock scoffed and turned his attention to the children.

John watched the detective with a grin. "You'll help him, we both know it. - Just because he doesn't want you to."

Sherlock tried to look innocent but the mischievous grin plastered across his face told John everything.

"So you'll be out tonight?" John asked, checking his hair again in the mirror above the fireplace.

"Yes." Sherlock replied his tone flat and all amusement gone.

"Alright." John shifted, before looking towards the kitchen where Mary was preparing tea for the children. "I won't be back late, Mary."

The young woman smiled at him. "It's fine."

John glanced around the room with the feeling he was forgetting something, his hands patting down his pockets.

"Your mobile's on the dresser and your wallet's in your black jacket." Sherlock provided.

John marched off to collect his things, returning he knelt down by the children. "Okay, kids, I've got to go."

Beth turned and glared at her father. "Where?" she demanded in a small voice.

"I'm going to meet a friend." he smiled. "You be good for Mary, alright. - That goes for you too Junior."

Beth's spine straightened, her arms folding across her small chest. "`m always good." John rolled his eyes. "Of course you are. - About as much as he is." he nudged his chin towards Sherlock.

He ducked his head quickly and kissed the pairs head. Beth was still glaring at him unforgivingly as he got to his feet. John had the distinct feeling she was judging him for attempting to have a normal love life. Something he hadn't felt before Sherlock had returned. Of course, he hadn't dated as much then, now he seemed to throw himself into the dating scene, something he refused to analyze. "I'll see you all later."

"Have a nice time." Mary called, her tone saying the opposite.

John didn't fail to notice that Sherlock had returned his goodbye a little tersely. He paused at the top of the stairs and looked back over his shoulder. "Sherlock, if you need me, text."

"I will be fine John."

John left the flat feeling a lack of excitement about his date.

~**SHERLOCK**~

It surprised John to find Sherlock curled up on the sofa, Junior beside him when he came in from his date. It was barely eleven o'clock and he would have expected the detective to be missing until the early hours. John took at the scene with a sigh, the sight of the red bucket at the side of the couch made his stomach drop. Stepping cautiously forward, he pressed the back of his hand to his son's forehead and groaned silently at the heat there.

He crouched at their side and brushed his fingers over the small boy's cheek. Why hadn't they called him home straight away?

"I was here," Sherlock murmured, his eyes drifting open to look at his friend. "There was no need to pull you away from you're date."

"You should have called me." John insisted in a harsh whisper.

"I am perfectly capable to look after him John. It's only a stomach bug."

"That's not the point Sherlock. I'm the doctor here….and his father, if he's ill I want to know."

Sherlock rolled his eyes. "You wouldn't have done anything different. I gave him _Calpol_, kept an eye on his temperature, checked his body for any rash and stayed up with him while he was sick." he snapped.

John could see that the detective was insulted at his lack of faith, but he couldn't help it. As much as Sherlock was right and perfectly competent, he was a parent and those instincts weren't exactly logical. But then Sherlock was his parent too and the man's instincts were just as strong. "I'm sorry." he got to his feet to shrug out of his coat and hang it on the door. "I know you did everything. I just…"

Sherlock nodded as he gently climbed over the little boy. "Tea?"

"Please," John sighed warily, watching Junior roll into the space Sherlock vacated, leaving room for him to sit.

While Sherlock prepared the tea, John sat running his fingers through the little boy's soft blond curls, unlike his sister he'd taken after John's side of the family, which only added to the strange sense of connection that existed within their small family unit. He'd never really spared the time to think about what it meant that the children were a part of him _and _Sherlock. In his mind they'd been Sherlock's biological children, despite carrying his sisters DNA. It hadn't been until Sherlock had come home, till they'd settled into being a family that it had really connected in his head. For ages he'd put a clear line between what the children were to him and to Sherlock. He was their dad, Sherlock was their father. Harry, well she was a gift from God at a time when his life was dark and pointless.

It was strange how brains worked; John hadn't allowed himself to think of the complexities of his family at the beginning. Sherlock being dead had meant he didn't need to. His brain had no reason to question why he'd been so eager to have the children. Sure he'd said it wasn't his idea, that Harry had gone behind his back and that by the time he'd found out about it, it was too late. - But that had all been excuses. Harry wasn't so far gone he couldn't have insisted on her having an abortion. He could have demanded that she keep the children herself and then cut all ties. Hell he could have put Beth up for adoption when she was born. But he'd done none of those things, he'd thrown himself into fatherhood because Beth was Sherlock's child and his final connection to the only person he cared about beyond reason.

And then he'd insisted on Junior. He still couldn't figure out why he'd asked Harry to have him, he'd just woken up one morning, looked at Beth and somehow had wanted another child. And all the while neither he nor his therapist had asked why. Now, though, that was all he thought about. Not why he'd wanted a family-that was the easy question, because he'd always wanted one, always planned on having one. The terrifying, discomforting question was why he'd wanted one with his dead best friend? Of course he knew the answer to that question, in the darkest reaches of his mind he knew, he just wasn't ready to look for it.

Sighing, he shook off the thoughts that where once again plaguing him and concentrated on his son. "When was he last sick?" he asked as Sherlock handed him his tea. Their fingers brushing lightly. John ignored it.

"About an hour."

John nodded taking a sip from his mug. "Sorry you didn't get to go snooping," he smiled lightly.

Sherlock glared at the man. "Weren't you the one to point out my priorities?"

John sighed, "You can go now if you want, it's still early. - For you."

"It's fine." Sherlock turned and headed over to his chair, dropping down with a tired sigh.

John watched him out of the corner of his eyes, his heart skipping at the sight of the younger man slouching against the grey leather, obviously tired. Once upon a time Sherlock would have stayed up for days on end without sleep. Now he could barely make it two days without at least a couple of hours. "Why don't you go to bed? I'll stay up with Junior."

"I'm fine." Sherlock said resolutely.

"You're not fine, you're knackered. You've already been up two days working that murder case for Lestrade. Go to bed."

"Doctor's orders?" Sherlock smirked.

"Damn right," John smiled. "Go." he pointed towards their room.

Sherlock dragged himself out of the chair, strolling over to the couch he paused, looking down at John for a long moment. The doctor swallowed hard and tried to keep his face placid. He couldn't allow Sherlock to see the turmoil that was flooding him. It was a constant battle John was getting tired of fighting, but for everyone's sake, especially his own, he couldn't let Sherlock see what was happening to him.

Sherlock tore his gaze away from the doctor and ducked down, brushing his lips against the soft blond strands of the small boy's hair. Straightening up, his hand dropped on his friend shoulder. "Goodnight John," he whispered and then vanished from the room.

John shivered at the touch of his friend's hands and the softly spoken words. When he was finally alone he allowed the mask to drop and slouched against the arm of the couch. His eyes closed as he tried to regulate his breathing. He ran his hand through his cropped hair and sighed. How long was he going to keep doing this to himself? How long could he fight? He didn't know if he was honest. But he couldn't give in because it wasn't in him to.

But despite telling himself for a year that it wasn't real, that it was everyone else projecting their beliefs on him, he couldn't seem to stop feeling….whatever it was. And it was slowly driving him crazy.

~**SHERLOCK**~

As it turned out, Junior wasn't the only one to go down with a stomach bug. Beth, Sherlock and Mary all were laid up within a matter of days. John had little choice but to take the week off work. Being ill didn't stop Sherlock, much to John's frustration, the man insisted on working and wouldn't take John's advice when it came to eating or resting. No, Sherlock would not be beaten by a virus.

At least until Thursday afternoon when Lestrade had to have a police car escort the detective home after almost passing out at a crime scene. John was actually thankful Sherlock waited till the end of the week before bowing to the inevitable. A few days earlier and he would have had to juggle two sick children as well as the grumpy consulting detective.

People said doctors made the worst patients; well those people had never had to nurse Sherlock through a relatively common stomach virus that had only gotten so bad because the stubborn twat refused to do what he was told. So now John had to listen to him complain about aching limbs, headaches and the constant feeling of nausea.

"Serves you right," John said unsympathetically as he handed Sherlock two pain killers and a glass of water. "Next time I tell you to stay in bed and rest, you'll bloody listen to me, won't you."

Sherlock took the tablets begrudgingly with a groan. "There is no need to shout John."

"Sherlock, I'm not shouting." And he wasn't, his voice was barely above a whisper.

"Well it feels like your shouting," Sherlock complained with a groan.

John rolled his eyes. "Just go back to bloody sleep you grumpy shit." he snapped.

"I am not grumpy, I'm ill." Sherlock replied with a harsh stuffy tone. Wincing as his head snapped round to glare at the doctor.

"And don't we all know it. - Junior wasn't half as bad as you. - Hell, I've seen dying men who don't complain as much as you do."

"Shut up." Sherlock grunted flipping himself over on the bed and pulling the covers over his head.

"Wish you bloody would." John replied as he pulled the door closed with an unnecessary bang.


	3. Chapter 3

**Special thanks to my Beta Saysesydo**

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**CHAPTER THREE**

"What are you doing here?" Sherlock asked as the brunette strolled through the door with a seductive red lipped smile.

"Now sexy, is that any way to greet an old friend?"

Sherlock fixed the woman with a stare.

"You didn't reply to my email," Irene stated as she walked causally into the room, scanning her surroundings.

"I can't help you," Sherlock said stiffly.

"Can't you?" The dark haired woman stared out Sherlock's window, "And why not?"

"Because the case does not interest me."

Irene's head snapped around to stare disbelievingly at the detective. "The daughter of an American senator vanishes without a trace, not interesting?"

"Dull. She's probably a runaway with some young man."

Irene folded her arms and examined Sherlock's schooled features. He was clearly interested by the case but for some reason was not going to take it.

"Mycroft?"

Sherlock didn't react to his brother's name. "Why is the disappearance of an American's daughter any of you're concern?" he asked after a moment.

Irene visibly stiffened for a split second but it was enough for Sherlock to take note.

"You know the senator?" He deduced.

Irene turned back to the window. "I know what he likes," she announced coolly.

The pair fell silent, the only sound filling the room being the strings of Sherlock's violin as he plucked aimlessly at them. Irene continued to stand at the window, looking out over Baker Street with her arms folded over her chest.

"How are things between you and John?" she finally asked in a change of subject.

Sherlock's fingers hit a dull note. "Fine."

The woman turned a questioning brow his way. "Just fine?"

"I don't want to discuss it."

"Oh come on Sherlock, we've talked about it before. Have you told him?"

The detective stiffened in his seat. "There is nothing to tell." he stated coldly.

Irene turned back to the window. "Oh no? - So you're not in love with him?"

Sherlock remained silent causing Irene to smirk into the glass.

After a few moments the woman turned away from her place by the window and strolled determinedly over to the grey leather chair, dropping down on to the detectives lap, her fingers running playfully through the slick dark curls.

"What are you doing?" he looked up into the amused seductive green eyes.

"Trying to make the case interesting."

Sherlock looked deep into the flirtiest green eyes and shifted under her weight. "I'm still not interested," he announced coolly.

Irene pressed herself closer to the detective, her lips brushing his ear. "Please," she whispered, "for me."

Sherlock swallowed as her warm breath fanned the shell of his ear. "Irene."

"Sherlock?"

The detective practically jumped out the chair at the sound of John's voice. His head snapping around to see him stood in the doorway with Junior in his arms and Beth at his side. Irene turned to smile at the doctor brightly.

"Hello Doctor Watson. - How are you?"

The doctor's blue eyes burned into the woman. "What are you doing here? Aren't you supposed to be dead?"

Irene slid off the detectives lap, running her hands down her black pencil skirt. "Nice to see you too." She took a few steps before crouching down to meet the little girl's hard gaze. "You must be Beth," she smiles charmingly.

Beth glared furiously at the intruder, her small arms folding over her chest and her chin lifted defensively. Irene smirked at the stance and straightened. "And this must be Sherlock Junior?"

"Why are you here?" John asked again, his grip subconsciously tightening around the boy in his arms.

"Irene wants my help on a case," Sherlock said a little too quickly.

The doctor looked between the pair disbelievingly, the memory of what Sherlock had told him about his absence flooding his mind and making his gut clench painfully. "Really. Well," he huffed, "would you mind taking it to you're _office _and out of _our _home!" he took Beth's hand, leading her through to the kitchen.

"John don't be childish," Sherlock snapped with frustration.

John turned back to glare at his flat-mate, as he lowered Junior onto his highchair. "Childish? How is asking you to take you're…." he turned scolding eyes on Irene, looking her up and down. "…_work…_to your office, childish?"

Irene looked between the pair as they stood arguing and her chest tightened a little in envy, though she would never admit it. She'd really had no chance with Sherlock and she couldn't understand why she hadn't listened to her instincts five years ago. She'd know then that there was more to these two than simple friendship. But then she'd never planned to fall in love with the Great Detective. - Anymore than John Watson had.

"I know when I'm not welcome," Irene said strolling over to get her coat off the back of John's chair.

John scoffed, turning his back to her and mumbling under his breath.

"I'll leave you two to you're domestic," she smiled warmly, pressing a big red-stained kiss to Sherlock's cheek before turning to leave. Not failing to see the disdainful glare the good doctor sent her way. - Or the one delivered by the little girl. "Think about the case Sherlock, it's important."

Irene strolled out of 221B with an air of confidence and a bright grin on her red lips.

**~SHERLOCK~**

"I thought you were working that case Mycroft didn't want you touching." John said in a harsh tone, his concentration fixed on the food he was preparing.

"How was Harry?" Sherlock asked, hoping to avoid the conversation.

John stood in silence, anger flowing through him. Why was Sherlock avoiding? He never avoided anything. John's brows drew together tightly, then it hit him. He swung around, the bread knife gripped tightly in his hand and glared at the detective.

"She's involved, isn't she!" It wasn't a question, and didn't need an answer; the look on Sherlock's face told him he was correct. "So that's why you've been so interested," he all but snarled.

Sherlock dropped onto a chair at the end of the table and looked between the children, unable to meet his friends gaze.

"Of course it is," John grumbled turning back to the counter angrily, "That woman just has to snap her fingers and you're jumping to do her bidding. - Sometimes Sherlock you're a typical bloody man." John's hands were shaking as he spread butter over the slices he'd cut. He knew he sounded like a jealous girlfriend but he couldn't help it, any more than he could deny that it was jealousy that was currently flooding through him.

Sherlock watched his friends back, his spine was painfully straight and his shoulders were tense. His tone had been the true proof of his raging emotions. He was jealous, and the knowledge sent a warm feeling though Sherlock chest and a smile spread across his lips.

"Sheerlock, why you smilin'?" Beth asked; her head tilted slightly to the side.

John's head snapped around to see the smirk on his friend's face. His fingers instantly tightened around the knife as he glared daggers at Sherlock, who didn't even look contrite.

"Because he's an arrogant prat," John snapped, turning back to the sandwiches.

"John, such language in front of the children," the detective scolded.

"Believe me…." he said though a clenched jaw, "…I was editing my language."

The room fell into silence. John continued making the sandwiches. Sherlock sat talking to the children about what they'd done at Aunt Harry's. If it wasn't for the unbearable tension between the two men, it would have looked like a perfectly normal family on a Saturday afternoon.

"So?" John sighed ten minutes later, sat at the other end of the kitchen table with a mug of tea between his palm, while the children ate their sandwiches. Sherlock raised a brow at him.

"The case? What is it?"

Sherlock straightened, unsure whether to get John involved, unsure what to tell his best friend. If he mentioned the message from Irene he'd received a couple of weeks ago he knew it would set him off again. - But then, John was his partner, his friend _and _his blogger. He needed to know what was happening. "It's a possible kidnapping."

"Possible?" John frowned.

"I'm not wholly sure what to make of the situation. Everything points to a kidnapping but other things indicated that it isn't. I'm still gathering data."

"Is that what you call it?" John murmured into his mug, part scoff and part scold. Taking a deep gulp of the tea, he lowered the mug. "And her involvement?"

Sherlock shrugged. "Unclear at present. But she is most defiantly involved, as is Mycroft. I just can't see how yet."

"So who's been kidnapped?"

"An American senator's daughter, Annabel Diamond. She went missing five weeks ago."

"Five weeks? Well, if it is a kidnapping surely she's dea….." he looked between the children. "…unobtainable by now."

Sherlock nodded. "That would usually be the case, but two weeks ago the senator received a hostage demand, with a video as proof of life."

John frowned, staring down into his mug. "Why wait so long?"

Sherlock's brows pulled together. "I don't know. That's what's been bothering me." He unthinkingly plucked a piece of cucumber off Beth's plate, causing the two year old to glare at him dangerously. John couldn't help but smile.

"What's Mycroft's involvement?"

"Unclear." Sherlock mumbled around the vegetable. "But his lack of openness with me on the situation only adds to my interest." He smirked.

"Have you contacted the senator?"

"No. I don't want the man knowing about my involvement until I understand what I'm actually getting involved in. - Americans and I tend not to get on."

John bit back a laugh. "I remember perfectly. - But you'll want to see that tape," he remarked.

"Yes, and if Mycroft won't assist me then I'll…."

John groaned. "Adler. - Are you sure you can trust her?" he asked, looking at the table top.

"Strangely yes. She helped me before."

John's face tensed at the reminder that the woman was there for Sherlock when he couldn't be. That she'd helped him out of the dark pit and straight into her bed.

"It was a once only thing John. A mistake. It won't happen again," Sherlock said, reading John mind.

"I just don't want you ending up in a worse mess than last time you were working a case involving that woman."

"It'll be fine John. - I've got you to watch my back."

The two men's eyes met across the table, a promise of 'always', silently passing between them.

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**A/N: Thanks to everyone for the reviews and follows.**


	4. Chapter 4

**Special thanks to my Beta Saysesydo. And Thank you too everyone who is following this story, I hope you're enjoying it. Your feedback is always a joy to read. Note for future reference: **_An Hour Earlier_ **- is an hour before Sherlock got home. Just to save confusion. **

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**CHAPTER FOUR**

Irene sat at the table across from Sherlock as he watched the kidnap video he'd insisted she deliver to him. John had reluctantly vanished into the shower, leaving the pair alone with the children, who sat together on Sherlock's grey leather chair watching cartoons and sharing a plate of jammie toast. Irene looked over to see the small girl sending her a very John Watson look. Irene bit back a smile as Beth swung her arm around her little brother and pulled her possessively towards her. A clear 'stay away' in her eyes.

"Just like John, I see," Irene remarked in a slow voice.

Sherlock glanced up over the edge of his laptop with a raised brow.

"Beth. Just like John."

Sherlock turned to look at the children. "Actually it's commonly acknowledged that she takes after me. Junior, despite his name, has more of John's traits."

Irene tiled her head looking at the silent one year old. "Like?"

Sherlock's face softened and it wasn't clear if it was aimed at Junior or John. "He's quiet, caring, he seems to have an affinity for looking after the wounded…." Sherlock looked over at Irene, "He picked up a dead bird in the park a few weeks ago, John practically ripped it out of his hands." He shook his head at the memories and turned his attention back to the children. "Junior also has John's temper. He can be completely calm until someone, namely his sister or Mary, ruffles his feather and then he explodes. He gave the nurse at the surgery a black eye when he went for his jabs." Sherlock smirked again. "It's always the quiet ones that are the more dangerous." He nodded, going back to the laptop.

Irene sat watching him, a little spark of jealousy rushing through her. It was incredible to her. She'd never thought of loving anyone, love was for fools. Then she'd met Sherlock Holmes and everything had changed. She'd fallen in love with him against her better judgment. Sadly, that love wasn't returned. Sherlock saw her as a challenge, nothing more.

"Sherlock Holmes!" Yelled John from the kitchen, causing the detective and Irene's heads to snap around painfully. "Give that back to your sister, now."

Junior looked at his father with a rebellious stare that would have done his namesake proud. Determined not to give into his dad's demands, but after a few seconds of John's military glare the little boy handed the final slice of toast back to his sister, his bottom lip quivering as he did so. Beth looked from her brother to her dad to the toast. Suddenly the small hands ripped it in half and handed half back to Junior.

John smiled warmly at the scene unable to fight the adorability of it all. After a second or so he lifted his gaze to the table where Sherlock and that woman sat staring at each other, something in John's gut knotted, tightening. Swiftly he made his way over to the man, leaning over his shoulder to see the laptop. "What you got?" he asked firmly.

Air caught in Sherlock's throat as he turned his head to find John's face too close to his own. He had to swallow twice to dislodge the lump there. "Still not sure," he replied a little breathlessly.

"What's that?" John asked, pointing to something on the screen, the movement sending up a wave of mint shower gel into Sherlock nostrils.

He forced himself to focus on John's finger. - No, not his finger, what it was pointing at. "Interesting," he hummed with a strained voice.

"What?" Irene pressed getting to her feet and marching around the table.

Sherlock slammed the computer and looked up at her, his fingers steepled.

"Sherlock?"

"You may leave. I'm afraid I can't help." Irene stood with narrow eyes and her arms folded over her chest. "Oh, really? Why?"

"Case is too boring. - Pay the ransom is my only advice."

"Sherlock."

Sherlock closed his eyes and sat silently. Irene's pale face grew crimson as she looked between the two men. Suddenly she turned on her heels and stormed out of the house.

John rushed to the window to be sure she'd left. He watched her climb into a cab before turning back to the detective. "Boring?" he quizzed with a raised brow.

"Utterly," Sherlock smirked, his head snapping around to meet John's blue, intrigued gaze. "I'm going out."

"Where?"

"Paying a visit."

"To?"

Sherlock got to his feet and headed to the door.

"Sherlock? Where?" John groaned as the detective vanished down the stairs.

**~SHERLOCK~**

"Sherlock?" John moaned turning over in his bed to stare at the bedroom door, where Sherlock tried unsuccessfully to sneak in. He rubbed at his face and turned to glance at the clock on the table between them.

"Sorry, John. Go back to sleep." He whispered as he began to undress.

John ignored the order and sat up, turning the lamp on, squinting as the brightness burnt his eyes. It took him a few moments to focus. Finally he did and he sat watching his flat-mate/friend hanging up his jacket.

He knew what came next, it hadn't been the first time he'd seen him undress. They did share a room after all. As Sherlock tugged at his tight grey shirt, an aroma filled the air, a scent John knew and hated. His stomach tightened. He tried to keep his voice cool and casual when he spoke. "Where you been?"

"Working on the case," Sherlock said, laying the shirt down beside him before reaching of his trousers.

John's gaze burned into Sherlock naked back, a painful fire alight in his chest. He hated how Sherlock could lie so easily. Though he hated that he cared, more.

He watched Sherlock silently as the man got to his feet and headed for the connecting bathroom, the smell of perfume following after him. Throwing himself back down onto his pillow, he turned his back to the detective's bed and closed his eyes, taking a deep breath and instantly wishing he hadn't. The fragrance made his stomach ache and his chest hurt. He clenched his jaw together tightly as he tried not to think about it, but ended up doing so.

He heard the shower running and once more his stomach dropped, behind his closed lids he saw Sherlock washing away the evidence of his amorous activities. He yanked the covers up over his head, hoping to block out the sound. When had his life gotten so painfully complicated, he asked himself, not for the first time. Why couldn't he have stayed how he was? Straight, and blissfully ignorant of Sherlock Holmes. In fact, at this precise moment he wished he'd never met the man.

**~SHERLOCK~**

Sherlock rested his head against the tiled wall of the shower and took deep breathes, hissing as the hot water battered his skin. He wanted, no needed, to get the scent of Irene off him. He knew John had smelt it, and knew what the man would be thinking. He should have told him the truth, the whole truth and nothing but the truth. He'd known that the moment he'd spoken. But he also knew what John would say and do and it was too late for an argument.

After a few minutes savoring the waters, Sherlock washed away the woman and climbed out, drying himself off, he slipped into his worn payjama bottom and long sleeve t-shirt and headed for bed. John was laying with his back to him and he felt his stomach tighten painfully. This was not how they were meant to be. John was supposed to be sat there awaiting his report on what he'd discovered. Instead he was buried under the covers, the distinct sound of a struggle to breathe echoing in the tense silence of their room. Sherlock looked at the bed, saw the duvet move unnaturally. Swallowing hard, he snatched his pillow and turned for the door, calling a gentle goodnight before leaving the room in search of the couch.

Lying back on the couch he stared up at the ceiling, he'd been so tired but now the idea of sleep was impossible to imagine. So he just laid there replaying his evening. He'd gone to see Mycroft, confronted him with what he knew and his proof. Mycroft had been furious, but had confirmed all of Sherlock's deduction and filled in the blanks, which there were few. After their, on occasion, heated meeting, Sherlock had left intending to return home. He hadn't gotten far before a car pulled up beside him, Irene grinning out.

"Let's have a drink Sherlock."

That's how he'd come to be at the Savoy bar, drinking with Irene, her body pressed close to his as was her way. She'd been trying to get information out of him, and once her seductive technique would have worked. _Once_.

When the woman realized she wasn't going to get what she wanted she dropped the act, pulling away from him, and simply became Irene, his…acquaintance and - as she termed it - agony aunt.

_An Hour Earlier_

"Just tell him Sherlock," Irene sighed.

Sherlock stared down into his glass of red wine. "I can't. It would ruin everything."

Irene rolled her eyes and made a frustrated sound in the back of her throat. "Men." she grunted. "You're all the same. - Sherlock, did it ever occur to you that it might make things better?"

The detective threw back a mouthful of wine. "He's straight," he said matter-of-factly, unsure if he was trying to convince her or himself.

Irene glared at him, painfully. "Don't make me punish you Sherlock."

The man glanced at her out of the corner of his eyes, but remained silent.

Sighing Irene leant forward, meeting his eyes. "John may very well believe he's straight, he can stand face to face with a firing squad and declare so over and again. But I will tell you one thing Sherlock Holmes, something you seem determined to ignore at your own peril. He's utterly in love with you and has been for years."

Sherlock's whole body stiffened, shifting uneasily on the seat. He shook his head and Irene slid her arm through his, resting her chin on his shoulder, her lips beside his ear so her warm breathe fanned the shell.

"Sherlock…" she said softly, sending a shiver though his body but not affecting him beyond. "…If John didn't care, he wouldn't hate me as he does. - And to prove it," she pressed a kiss of his neck, staining the skin a brilliant scarlet.

Sherlock's head snapped around. "I've got to go." he said, leaping from his seat. "Goodbye Irene."

"Sherlock, what about…." she slumped back against her seat and groaned as he vanished out of the hotel bar. "… _the_ _case_."

_Present._

Sherlock shifted on the couch, flipping himself over so that he face the back, taking in a deep breath and dragging the scent of John and their life into his lungs. He closed his eyes, tighter than necessary and tried not to think, but wound up doing it anyway. His dreams when they finally came were a tangled mess of John, Irene and the case.


	5. Chapter 5

**A/N: Special thanks to my Beta Saysesydo**

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**CHAPTER FIVE**

John strolled out of the bedroom feeling like a fifty ton weight was hanging from his back. He hadn't slept, well at least not enough. He'd tossed and turned all night, lying awake for hours staring at Sherlock's empty bed, choking on the scent of The Woman. It had become so infuriating that he'd dragged himself out of bed and opened the window, not caring about the chill that came with it. He just snuggled deeper into his covers.

He walked over the kettle, filling it and switching it on. He pulled down their mugs and dropped the tea bags into them. Then he just stood there staring at them. It was still impossibly early and the kids wouldn't be up for at least another half hour; an hour, if they were lucky. That gave him and Sherlock time not to talk. 'Cause he knew neither of them would say anything. It was what happened when they were upset with one another. They didn't fight, well not much, they would simply slip into this strained silence until John couldn't take it anymore and snapped. It was always John that broke, Sherlock too used to the silence.

The kettle clicked, indicating the water had boiled and he poured it into the mugs. He dragged out the tea bags, squeezing them before dropping them on the edge of the sink for disposal later, assuming Sherlock didn't use them for some experiment or other. Then he added the milk and sugar, one for him, three for Sherlock.

He carried the green mug over to the still sleeping detective and placing it on the coffee table, before turning to his own seat. He sat silently, sipping his tea and staring out of the window. It looked like it was going to be a lovely day. Maybe he'd take the kids to the park. He wasn't on call.

The squeak of the sofa told him Sherlock was awake but he didn't look around. He just finished his tea, got to his feet, deposited the cup in the sink and went in search of a shower.

The day continued with the same tension, neither man talking to the other unless wholly necessary. Throughout the morning, Sherlock looked as if he was going to speak first. His mouth opening then closing like a goldfish. John sat in his chair with Junior until lunch time at which point, he announced he was taking the children to the park and left.

The park was a nice break away from the house, or more precisely Sherlock and that God awful smell that never seemed to go away no matter how many windows he opened. He was sat on the bench watching Junior and Beth run around the playground when he felt it jolt beside him. He looked up to see Thomas, one of the 'married ones' next door.

Thomas was a nice guy, overtly gay and friendly to the point of annoying. - At least by Sherlock's definition. He and his husband, Marcus, had been together for years before he'd met Sherlock and moved to Baker Street. And they had three children, one of which was preparing to head off to university. John and Sherlock didn't exactly socialize with Thomas and Marcus. Sherlock tended to insult them on a regular bases and John, well he always felt just a little bit uncomfortable around the pair and their happy gay marriage, though he'd never really understood why. At least until lately.

Looking back over the years and a bit before Sherlock's….vacation, he realized what had made Thomas and Marc so discomforting had been the mirror they held out to his and Sherlock's home life. Sure, Thomas and Marc weren't running around solving crimes and getting shot at, or faking their own deaths, but the more domestic stuff, that echoed Sherlock and him too well. He'd see them coming home with the shopping, arguing over the bags or what they'd brought. They'd hear the arguments through the walls when they were really having a go at one another, he'd see them just standing in the pub, talking, drinking and laughing and it had all set a weight in his gut.

"Hey John," Thomas smiled.

"Hey," John shifted on the seat, "How's things?" he asked casually, as you are meant to.

"Fine. Paul's heading off next week, so it's kind of chaotic at the moment."

John nodded. "Where's he going again?" Mrs. Hudson had filled him in on the boy's future but he hadn't really been paying attention.

"Sheffield."

John nodded. "Good school," he guessed. Sherlock wouldn't thoughknow, he'd probably give Thomas a lecture on the pros and cons of the university and then insult Paul's intelligence in some way. John had the stomach clenching vision of Beth and Junior's future. Sherlock demanding that they could only attended the universities that he picked. A shiver ran down his spine.

"Yeah. - You alright." Thomas frowned at him.

"Fine. Bad thought just hit me," he said.

"Oh, I hope it was…."

"No, just a future prediction of what an arse Sherlock's going to be in seventeen years' time," he smirked despite himself.

Thomas laughed, looking at the kids, his own two year old son chattering away with Beth. "My sympathies, to you all."

"Thanks." John relaxed finally, slouching back in the seat. "Other than Paul's future, how's things."

"Good. Really. Lisa's started taking ballet, she's not really got the coordination but she looked adorable in her tutu. And as for him…." Thomas nodded to the two year old, "I think he may be trouble."

John laughed. "I'm sure it's just the terrible twos."

Thomas looked at John then his son. "I really hope so; I don't want phone calls from the police every weekend in ten or twelve years."

John bit back a laugh. "Well, I'd rather have a tear away teen than what I'm dreading. Beth's already too much like Sherlock," he sighed dramatically.

Thomas burst into laughter, then covered his mouth. "Sorry. Didn't mean…."

"It's fine." John waved.

The pair sat chatting idly about nothing very important and John was glad of it. It was nice having a normal, not crime related conversation with an adult, as opposed to what he was used to with Sherlock. Finally he called Beth and Junior.

"Got to go. It was nice catching up, Tom."

"Yeah," the man shook his hand. "I'd invite you and Sherlock over for tea and cake but…I know you won't come," he smiled, showing that he didn't really mind.

"Believe me, you don't want Sherlock in your house, he's not…..house trained." John laughed, "But I'd love to. I'll give you a call."

Thomas beamed a little too much and it made John smile more.

He lifted Junior and took Beth's hand. "See ya, Tom. Say bye," he ordered.

"Bee," Beth grinned, sending a look over her shoulder to Paul. Junior just waved and rested his head on his father's dad's shoulder, clearly exhausted.

The little boy was a sleep by the time they got back to the house, which was only a five minute walk from the park. Beth rushed up the stairs and burst into the room, skidding to a halt at the sight of a tall suited back. John strolled in behind her and sighed. "Mycroft."

"John." the eldest Holmes nodded to the doctor.

John deposited Junior on the couch to finish his nap before heading for the kitchen, not saying so much as a word to Sherlock. Beth remained where she was, staring at her uncle, her small arms folding over her chest, in a very John Watson manner. Finally she marched forward, never taking her eyes of the man and climbed into her father's lap, as she always did when she returned home. Usually she'd be talking a hundred miles an hours, telling Sherlock everything she'd done and seen, now she sat silently.

Mycroft shifted under the little girl's scrutiny, causing a smirk to spread over Sherlock's face.

"Hello Elizabeth," Mycroft nodded at the girl.

Beth remained silent.

"Beth," John said in a warning tone from the kitchen.

With a pout, Beth straightened her back, puffed out her chest and replied in a polite little girl manner, "Ello, Uncle Mecroft."

Mycroft looked from Beth to Sherlock and shook his head. "You are rubbing off on her I see."

"It's what parents do. Teach."

"Brainwash, more like." John grumbled from the kitchen, loud enough to be heard.

Mycroft looked over his shoulder at John's back as he prepared lunch and then turned his attention back to Sherlock. "Huh."

Sherlock narrowed his gaze. "Leave it," he warned.

"You mean you wish for me to keep out of your business?"

"Yes," Sherlock said through clenched teeth.

"Like you kept out of mine?" Mycroft smirked, turning his head once more. "So John, what has he done this time?" he watched the doctor closely. "Huh…."

"Mycroft," Sherlock warned again, lower this time.

The eldest brother turned back to the younger. "Really Sherlock, after everything that woman's done you're still foolish enough to get involved with her." He shook his head.

Sherlock sent the older man a death glare. "Shut up Mycroft and get out."

It wasn't surprise on Mycroft's face, and it wasn't amusement either. It was something new, well not so much new as rare. Concern. Getting to his feet, he looked down at his brother and niece. "Be careful Sherlock," was all he said as he turned and walked to the door. "John."

"Mycroft."

John listened to the sound of footsteps on the stairs as he cut the bread into triangles. "Beth. Lunch," he turned to see her still sat in Sherlock's lap, staring at the empty doorway. "Now." He didn't mean to snap, and it certainly surprised the pair sat in the chair. Taking a breath he calmed himself, laid the plate on the table with the glass of milk and waited.

Beth walked in slowly, her head hanging. John lifted her onto the chair, whispered a "Sorry sweetheart" into her ear and pressed a kiss to her cheek. He straightened to find Sherlock watching him from the door. He didn't say anything, he just stared at the detective waiting to see what he would do.

Sherlock walked passed John and grabbed his arm, dragging him towards the bedroom. "Beth, eat all your lunch, I need to speak to your father."

John went even though every instinct told him to shake the hand off and tell Sherlock where to shove his _'talk'_.

Inside the bedroom, Sherlock closed the door and turned to stare at his friend. John was doing his usual rebellious stance, arms folded, jaw set, back straight. Exactly how Beth had stood a few minutes ago.

Sherlock heaved a heavy sigh before he spoke. "I didn't sleep with her," he said matter-of-factly.

John's features flickered a little but he forced a non-reaction from the rest of his body.

"She took me for a drink, flirted with me to try and find out what I knew about the case and then I left."

John wasn't convinced.

"Alright I didn't leave. We talked for a bit, then I came home."

Still not convinced.

Sherlock glared. "You're being ridiculous. You're acting like…."

"If you say child again, I'm going to hit you. Hard."

"You are," Sherlock said defiantly. "A stubborn spoilt child who doesn't want to share his toys," the detective snapped. He watched John clench his fists, was the glint of anger in his eyes and waited for the blow.

"Move." John ordered.

"No." Sherlock stood defiantly.

"Sherlock, move or else."

"I'm waiting," the detective smirked, turning his face for John's fist.

"Sherlock," the doctor all but growled.

Sherlock stared at his friend, waiting for the reaction. Any reaction. But he got nothing but a painful blistering stare and a low command to move. He stood his ground, because something needed to break. But it wasn't going to be John. With an explicate swear word Sherlock had never heard pass the man's lips before he stormed into the bathroom and out of the other door. Sherlock groaned, he hadn't thought of that, which proved that there was something wrong. He slammed his head back against the bedroom door, repeating John's expletive.

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**A/N: Thanks to everyone for reading, reviewing and faving :D Love you all. xxx**


	6. Chapter 6

**A/N: Special thanks to my Beta Saysesydo. You're the best. **

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**CHAPTER SIX**

Tensions in the house were reaching breaking point. John hadn't spoken to Sherlock about the incident in the bedroom two days before. Sherlock was walking around like a bear with a sore head, snapping at everyone except the children. The detective had taken to sleeping on the couch again which was perfectly fine with John. All in all, it was like the Antarctica at 221B Baker Street.

"Alright. It's been almost three days, what the hell's going on?" Mary asked sharply, as the two men, sat in different sides of the rooms not talking or looking at each other.

"Nothing." the pair said simultaneously.

"Bollocks!"

John turned to look at her, avoiding looking at Sherlock. "Leave it. It's nothing."

Mary glared at the pair. "Fine, don't tell me. I don't give two shits about your latest fucking domestic!" she yelled.

Sherlock's head snapped up. "Language around the children."

Mary waved her arms. "Do you see any children, smart-ass? No, that's because they're down stairs with Mrs. H, getting warm."

"Warm?" Sherlock frowned.

"Yeah, from the artic chill that's settled between you too. - It's affecting them you know. They're your damn kids you arses, they pick up on this shit!" she was growing more angry by the second. "And you're making their lives miserable. So you two are going to talk, fight or fuck. Whatever you need to do to break the ice and get the hell over whatever it is. Mrs. H is having the kids tonight, I'll be back in the morning and I want this place feeling like a home again. Understand!" she yelled, marching out of the house.

John and Sherlock stared at the door with wide eyes, before their gazes drifted to one another with guilt. They didn't move though, they just remained in their seats, waiting for the other one to make the first move. Then Sherlock's phone went off and John's face turned a murderous red at the familiar sound. Sherlock looked from the doctor to his phone and back again, seeing the challenge in John's eyes. The look said 'answer that and I'm out of here'.

It went off again a few seconds later. Sherlock kept still, like any sudden movement would set John off.

_Ahhh_. The phone went again.

John clenched his jaw and got to his feet, marching over to the desk where Sherlock was sat and snatching up the phone. Glaring down at the screen, he didn't bother getting permission from Sherlock, he just opened the messages.

**Message:**

**Sherlock, where are you. I need you.**

**Irene.**

John clenched his jaw, going back a message.

**Message: **

**Come on sweetheart, answer me. It's important. **

**xxx**

**Message:**

**Sherlock, I need to see you. Now. **

**xxx**

John's fingers tightened around the device a second before he thrust it towards the detective. "Your woman wants you. Now."

"John?"

The doctor was walking towards the bedroom, where the door slammed shut behind him.

John dropped onto the nearest bed, his heart pounding out of control in his chest. He dropped his head into his hands, forcing breath into his lungs. His head was pounding and had been for days. The stress of his crumbling relationship, the pressure of his jealousy. He wanted to shake it off, but she was determined to stay in their lives, putting a wedge between them. He just wanted it over. For the first time in over a year, he wished Sherlock had never come back. The pain of losing him was a relief compared to what he was feeling now.

**~SHERLOCK~**

Sherlock sat staring at the mobile phone, torn. Irene's reappearance in their lives was putting too much pressure on them. John hatred of the woman was becoming worse by the day. He had a decision to make. No, he didn't, it wasn't a choice. Taking the phone he opened the message writer and began to type.

**Message: **

**Goodbye Irene. Please don't contact me again.**

**SH**

_Send. _

He sat back in his chair and turned to look at the bedroom door. Taking a breath he lifted himself off the chair. He's barely taken two steps when the phone made that noise and he groaned, couldn't she ever take no for an answer. Marching back to the desk, he lifted the phone, intending to delete her number and the message without looking. But sadly his curiosity got the better of him and he opened the message. And froze.

**~SHERLOCK~**

John jumped as the bedroom door flung open, his head shooting up to see Sherlock standing over him, mobile in hand. A lead weight settled in his stomach and he couldn't breathe.

"John." Sherlock said firmly. "I am going…."

The doctor's insides clenched tight, his fingers curling into fists. Sherlock was leaving, going off with Adler. Why wasn't he surprised?

"….to save Irene, she's being held by the senator's men, probably to try and persuade me to tell them what I know. I would appreciate the back up if you wouldn't mind."

John stared open mouthed at him. That was nothing like what he'd expected.

"John. We are on a schedule. Are you coming?"

"I…I…" he couldn't think. As much as he hated Adler he couldn't let anything happen to her. But then, who said she was in any real danger? Maybe this was one of her games. Her way of getting Sherlock to chasechasing after her.

"John! This is not a game. She really is in trouble and Senator Crystal is a dangerous man. Why do you think Irene was so desperate for my help? She's scared of him."

John couldn't help the disbelieving snort of laughter.

"Jesus John!" Sherlock snapped, yanking the man to his feet. "We don't have time for this. Are you coming or not?"

"Not." John heard himself say without thinking.

Sherlock for once actually looked surprised and John smiled inwardly.

"Pardon?"

"I said not. She's your mistress Sherlock, you save her."

"Mistress? What is this, the seventeenth century?" Sherlock chuckled.

Anger boiled in John's stomach. "Just go and save your damn damsel Sherlock. You always do. All she has to do is snap her bloody fingers and you go running. Just like the rest of us poor average men, you can't resist a pair of long legs and red lips. I don't know why I'm so bloody surprised, really. Really, what I am surprised at is why the hell you came back. You should have stayed with the manipulative whore!" he yelled. "All she ever does is make our….."

Sherlock was staring wide eyed at his friend, listening closely to the inflections in John's voice and his heart skips at the clear signs of jealousy. Still aware that Irene's life was hanging in the balance as they spoke, Sherlock found he had to make things clear to John. Stepping forward, he gripped the doctor by the shoulders and brought his mouth down, silencing John mid hissing fit. It was all tongues and teeth, it was just a hard press of lips before pulling away. John stared up at him with wide blue eyes.

"Now, we can finish this argument later, right now we have a manipulative whore to save."

With that Sherlock turned and marched out of the door, confident John would be behind him.

**~SHERLOCK~**

"You know, using Ms. Adler as leverage was really not very wise. As I'm sure my text showed, she doesn't exactly stand high on my list of priorities," Sherlock announced as he marched into the warehouse, his coat flapping behind him.

"Yet here you are." the American smirked.

Irene was sat elegantly on a rotting old chair, flanked on two sides but meatheads. Sherlock sighed, American's were so un-original.

"I am only here because your message made it blatantly clear that you would kill her if I did not attend. And as much as Ms. Adler is not overly important to me, I am not just going to let her die."

"Then you had better tell me what I want to know."

Sherlock sauntered around the room before taking a seat on a wooden crate and meeting the man's gaze. "Let the lady leave first."

The older man stared at Sherlock, before nodding. "Fine," he waved his hand, "Irene, you may leave."

Irene looked between the pair nervously. "Sherlock?"

"Go," the detective stated, "I would say it was a pleasure seeing you again, but that would be a lie."

Irene sniffed, raising her nose in the air and storming off past them. They waited until she was gone before conversation started again.

"So you wish to know where your daughter is?"

"If you wouldn't mind," the senator nodded.

"Well, that is rather difficult to say."

"Mr. Holmes," the man said in a warning tone.

"I mean it's difficult to pronounce…." he smirked, placing his finger to his lips. "Let me see….kickitwake…not that's not right. Huh, kicktermjack….nope…."

The sound of a shot rang around the building. Sherlock looked up to see the gun aimed at him. "If you shoot me, you'll never know."

"Lucky I'm not going to shoot you then, isn't it," the man smirked as footsteps could be heard behind him. He didn't need to look to know it was another meathead dragging John.

"Predicable. American's are always so predictable." Sherlock sighed. "Don't you agree, John?"

"Utterly." John laughed, then grunted at the meathead punching him in the stomach.

"Where is she?"

"Fine…Qikiqtarjuaq."

The senator frowned. "What?"

"Qikiqtarjuaq."

"It's in Canada," John put in.

The senator looked between the two men. "You're lying."

Sherlock gave a heavy bored sigh. "Of course I'm lying. I have no intention of telling you where you're daughter is."

"Then I'll just shoot Doctor Watson."

Sherlock shrugged. "Still won't tell you."

The senator glared. "Yes you will, I know you care for him. You wouldn't let him die."

"Quiet true. John's my best friend…" Sherlock glanced over at the man, "…and so much more. And he's also an honourable good man and I know that when I tell him that the reason your daughter ran away was to escape your brutal beatings and sexual abuse, I know he'll happily take that bullet. Right John?"

The doctor's back straightened, his jaw clenched tight and he fixed the armed man in front of him with a murderous glare. "Right," he sneered.

"Huh," the man paused for a long moment considering this, "Then my only option is to put you through what I'm going through. I understand you have a daughter Mr. Holmes."

Sherlock felt his heart leap into his chest but he kept the mask fixed in place.

"Maybe, I'll take your little girl as recompense for mine."

"I would like to see you try Senator Crystal. The British police force looks very unfavorable on the kidnapping of children."

Crystal smirked. "Huh, but you see Mr. Holmes, I'm an American Senator, I'm untouchable," he snarled.

"He's right Sherlock," John said, sounding a little panicked.

"He is, isn't he?" Sherlock frowned, looking at John. When he turned back, his lips curved into a smile. "But only by the British Government, the American…well, they wouldn't want a scandal."

Crystal glared at him. "They'll never believe you."

"True. Which was why I made sure you were the one to tell them." Sherlock grinned, though his eyes were dangerously still. "Did you get all of that Mycroft."

"Perfectly," announced the eldest Holmes, strolling casually into the warehouse like he was walking onto a tea room, behind him two men in black suits. "Senator." Mycroft nodded. "Pleasure to meet you again. How's the family. Oh, sorry how insensitive of me."

John, Sherlock and Mycroft watched as the men in black read the Senator his rights, informing him that he'd been stripped of his diplomatic status and was to be sent back to America to face questioning of one count of kidnapping as well as child cruelty, rape and a few other counts that Sherlock hadn't been aware of.

"Maybe next time Mycroft, you'll go to Sherlock first," John said as they headed back to the car.

"Oh John." Sherlock shook his head. "You think Irene's manipulative," he groaned.

John glanced over at Mycroft who sat back in his seat with just the smallest hint of a smirk.

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**A/N: Thanks everyone for staying with me and sending me your wicked reviews. :D**


	7. Chapter 7

**Special thanks to my Beta Saysesydo**

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**CHAPTER SEVEN**

An hour later John and Sherlock strolled back into 221B to find the place silent. It took John a few minutes to remember that Mrs. Hudson was having the children for the night, they were only a floor down but it felt like they were miles away. With a wary sigh he dropped heavily into his armchair, stretching out his legs with a groan. Sherlock shrugged out of his coat, hanging it behind the door and heading for the kitchen.

"Tea?"

"Yes please," John replied, dragging his jacket off his shoulder without getting up from his seat. Free of the clothing, he lent his head back against the chair and closed his eyes.

"John."

The doctor peeked through a single eye to see Sherlock stood over his with a steaming mug. He smiled softly and reached for it.

"You should go to bed," Sherlock said gently.

"I'm fine."

"You're exhausted," Sherlock insisted.

John opened both eyes and stared up at his friend, seeing the dark rings beneath his eyes. "So are you," he sighed.

Sherlock moved, taking his seat across from the man. "I'll sleep when you go to bed." he stated matter-of-factly, glanced at the couch where his pillow still lay.

John followed his gaze and felt his gut clench tight.

Taking a sip of his tea, allowing the warmth to slid down his throat and heat his chest. He glanced at his friend, who sat drinking his own tea. Taking a breath John got to his feet, strolling causally to the couch and grabbing the edge of the pillow. With the pillow in one hand and the tea in the other, he turned towards the bedroom.

"Come on Sherlock."

The detective's heart raced, his could feel his hands beginning to shake at the sight of John with his pillow strolling to the bedroom. He hadn't been able to rid his mind of the images of their brief kiss before rushing off to save Irene. He wasn't sure what was meant to happen next, what John expected. Sherlock was surprised by the way his body was already reacting at the prospect, so much more intense than ever before. Not even when he'd been with Irene had he felt like this. It was as if there was an electric charge running through his body.

"Hey, you coming?"

Sherlock nodded as he got to his feet, swallowing hard. With his mug still in his hand he followed after the slightly older man. He felt slightly sick at the prospect of what awaited him on the other side of the door. Filling his lungs he stepped over the threshold. His pillow was the first thing that caught his attention, laying on his made bed awaiting his head. He placed the mug on the bedside table. His gaze travelling across the room to where John stood, his back to him, dragging his jumper up over his head.

He'd seen John undress a thousand time before, more than a thousand actually, but tonight the sight caused him to take a sharp breath. As the jumper was pulled over his head, it dragged the shirt beneath with it, revealing a strip of pale flesh just above the waist of the man's jeans. Sherlock dragged his lips through his teeth and unconsciously moved his fingers to the buttons of his shirt.

John dropped the jumper unceremoniously on the floor at the end of the bed, too tired to be tidy. Turning he lowered himself on the edge of the bed, catching sight of Sherlock as he did so. The man slowly striping himself of his soft-grey shirt. He swallowed hard as he bent over to untie his laces, still watching the detective through his lashes as he dragged the thin delicate material from his equally delicate shoulders. He ran his tongue along his lower lip as he pulled the boot off his foot, dropping it with a thump next to him and moving on to the other. Sherlock didn't sit to remove his shoes, choosing instead to simply toe them off one at a time, kicking them to the other side of the room and wincing when on hit the dresser a little too hard, making items on top shake. John's lips curved into a gentle smile.

With his feet now bare, John got to his feet, his hands moving to the fastening of his jeans. He didn't know why his eyes lifted to search out Sherlock while he did this, but there they were, watching him. His heart leapt into his throat as he saw Sherlock's hand in the same position. He popped the button almost the same instant the detective did. They worked the fly before gripping the waistband and pushing their individual trousers down their thighs. Their heart slamming into their ribs, their breathing impossible and their eyes still locked on one another.

John realised Sherlock was practically naked while he still had his shirt on, swiftly he moved to be rid of the remaining item of outdoor clothing, then both men were stood across the room from each other in only their underwear. Neither man moved or spoke. Unsure.

John knew what he would have usually done. He would have been across the room in an instant, his arms around the person, his mouth devouring theirs. But this wasn't a usual situation. This was Sherlock and he had no idea what he was meant to do. Or even if he was ready for that step. He'd never contemplated being in this position, at least not until a year ago. And while he'd dreamt about it, fantasized about it, actually standing there, the tension and desire filling the room, suddenly it was terrifying.

Sherlock watched his friend closely, as always able to see his mind speeding impossibly out of control. He could see, even in the dim light of the beside lamps, that he was aroused, but he could also see the fear. The way his hands shook, his body stiffly on guard as if sensing a threat. The way his breathing hitched nervously. Sherlock gut tightened and he forced in his own breath. He wanted this, they both did, but John wasn't ready, and if he was honest, he wasn't sure he was either. It was such a big step, something that would alter their relationship forever. - That might, God forbid, even destroy it. So with a resolved sigh, Sherlock dragged his gaze from John's and moved to the side of his bed. Dragging down the covers, he climbed beneath them, turning his back to the man he so desperately wanted and closing his eyes tight. He listened as John moved, heard the cry of the springs at he got beneath his own covers. Once Sherlock was sure John was settled, he spoke with a surprisingly calm and steady voice. "Good night John."

John's reply wasn't quite so steady. "N-night."

Neither man slept practically well that night, both equally aware of the other in the bed beside them, both wanting desperately to throw caution to the wind and act on the feeling that had been haunting them for years.

**~SHERLOCK~**

Life at 221 Baker Street carried on as if nothing important had happened. Sherlock and John went about their usual routine of solving crimes, saving the general population from the criminal underground and raising their children. Neither of them spoke about the tension between them, and thankfully neither did anyone else. They hadn't heard from Irene since the Diamond incident and both men were thankful for that too.

It was Christmas when the break finally came. The tension crumbling beneath the pressure of not talking about it, they were sat on the floor wrapping Christmas gifts, surrounded by colored paper and a bottle of wine, the children having been sent to sleep in their room. A tradition John had started with Beth her first Christmas. The flat was decorated with colored lights and tinsel, a small fake tree in the corner where the presents were already stored.

John was putting the last bow on the Beth's doll, while Sherlock tucked Junior's toy truck away. The detective looked over his shoulder at the doctor for a second and sighed.

"What wrong?" John asked, not looking up.

"Nothing. Just tired I guess."

"Yeah, been a rather hectic couple of weeks. Always the busiest time of the year for all of us." John nodded, holding out the parcel to Sherlock.

He took it making sure their fingers didn't touch. He was always avoiding touching John now, it was just easier that way. He put the present away and looked at the small tree. It was their second proper family Christmas and he couldn't help but look forward to it.

He'd never really liked Christmas as a child, it was hard not to be excited over what you'd been given when you'd known for weeks what it was, but now, now he loved it. Not for him, but for the children. People always said Christmas was a children's holiday and that it was better to give than receive, he knew how true those statements were now. There was nothing better than seeing the joy in Beth and Junior's faces when they opened their gifts.

He went to move from the tree when he noticed two envelopes tucked between the branches. He knew he hadn't put them there, and frowned as he pulled them free, seeing John and his names on it. He instantly knew who they were from and his chest tightened.

"What's that?" John asked from his position on the floor, where he was relaxing and sipping his wine.

Sherlock turned nervously. "They're from Irene. I don't know how they got here. - Mrs Hudson," he sighed.

John stiffened and looked at the envelopes. Sherlock handed over the one with John's name scrawled on it and strolled to his chair with his own. The men looked down at them, unsure whether they really wanted to read the things.

The doctor took a large gulp from his glass before sighing drastically, before carefully tearing the bright red envelope and pulling out the card. "Christmas cards?" he murmured with a frown, cautiously opening it, like he expected it to explode.

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**A/N: Thank you all so much for the continued support**


	8. Chapter 8

**Special thanks to my Beta Saysesydo.**

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**CHAPTER EIGHT**

_Dear John, _

_Merry Christmas. You're probably wondering why I'm sending you this. After all, we don't exactly get along, but we have one thing in common._

John glanced over as Sherlock who was reading his own card.

_I want to make something clear to you John. I love Sherlock. Have done since almost the moment I meant him. He's a wonderful, brilliant, gorgeous man. Of course you know all this, because you love him too, longer than I have. You know we slept together don't you John? Sherlock told you, I know he told you. How did it make you feel John? To hear that. Painful? Of course it was. I know it was because that's how I felt when I realized he would never love me, not like he does you. And he does love you John. I spent a year and a half with him and every day I knew the only thing he wanted was to return home to you. You're a hard man for a woman to compete with doctor. _

John swallowed hard, his heart clenching tight. He reached out with a shaky hand for his glass, throwing back the last of the drink. He could feel Sherlock's gaze on him but he didn't care. He went back to reading the card.

_But that doesn't mean I won't try. _

John's heart skipped and he clenched his jaw tight at the threat.

_I want Sherlock to be happy, that's all that matters to me. I know, I'm well aware that that doesn't sound like me, but Sherlock's the first person who's ever actually meant anything to me. So I'm willing to do whatever I have to, to help him achieve that goal. Which is why I'm writing this. _

_It's rather simple really, John. Either you claim Sherlock, or I will. And I can, you know. He may love you, but I've already proven that I can draw him in when I want him. And I do want him, John. So you will get over whatever ridiculous identity crisis you're having and take Sherlock, or I will return and this time I won't leave until he's mine. Are we clear, doctor? I'll give you till New Year's Eve. If Sherlock isn't kissing you come midnight, I'll make sure he's kissing me. _

_Once again, Merry Christmas John. _

_Irene_

_xxx_

John stared down at the card, re-reading it over. He drew in a sharp breath at the woman's threat, his gaze shooting up to stare at Sherlock who was watching him intently. He wanted to think that Irene couldn't win, that Sherlock had already made his feelings clear but he knew he was fooling himself. Irene had a power over Sherlock; he wasn't able to compete with.

"John?"

The doctor scrambled to his feet and rushed out of the room, straight into the bathroom, the card still in his hand. He dropped down on the toilet seat and tried to breathe through the panic attack. He flexed his fingers as his hand began to shake for the first time in almost five years.

It was easy, Irene had said so. All he had to do was admit to himself and Sherlock that he wanted him, that he wanted them to be more than just friends, flat-mates and colleagues. The first part was already done; he'd admitted that to himself a long time ago, but admitting it to Sherlock, out loud and then actually following through with it. He shook his head, before dropping it into his hands, the card staring up at him from the bathroom floor, taunting him.

Maybe he should let the man go? At least Irene could give him what he wanted, physically. But the idea of Sherlock leaving him again, leaving their family, made him feel sick.

_New Year's Eve_. He had a week to figure out what he was going to do, whether it was better to have loved and lost.

He was jolted out of his thoughts by a knock on the bathroom door, followed by the only male voice that could literally send shivers of desire down his spine.

"John? Are you alright?"

John swallowed his pounding heart. "I-I'm f-fine."

There was silence.

"You're lying, " Sherlock said finally.

"Of course I'm lying, I'm in the toilet after receiving a Christmas card from your bitch of a girlfriend," he snapped.

"She's not my girlfriend," the detective sighed, "What did she say?"

"It doesn't matter. It's none of your business. - What did yours say?" he asked, frowning at the closed door.

"You expect me to share the contents of my card, when you refuse to share your own. That is hardly fair John."

The doctor clenched his jaw. "Oh….bugger off," he shouted.

"John, please keep your voice down, the children are asleep in the next room."

John cringed as he listened to Sherlock's retreating footsteps, he'd completely forgotten about the children. How would they cope if Sherlock left with Irene? Something told him, she wasn't the step-mother type.

With a wary groan, John got to his feet, swept the card off the floor where he'd dropped it and went into the bedroom. He hid the card in his sock drawer, not that it would make much difference, Sherlock would find it and read it and know he had a deadline. He turned away from the dresser and looked at the children. Beth curled up in Sherlock's bed, Junior in his. A sad smile spread across his lips as he moved over to his bed and lay down next to the sleeping boy, running his fingers through the one year old's hair while staring across at Beth. He didn't want to lose his family, he really didn't. But there was something in John that meant he would. Cowardice.

**~SHERLOCK~**

John gasped and groaned at the heavy weight bouncing on his chest. He heard the same noise coming from beside him, along with the relentless gibbering of two small voices. He cracked open his eyes to see Junior sat on him, excitedly. He couldn't help but smile.

"Cwistmas. Dad! Wik up!" Beth was saying.

John moaned, "I'm awake." he turned to see Beth grinning at him while shaking Sherlock. "Dad! Wik up! Cwistmas!"

It took John a few second to realize what the little girl had said and when it finally sank in, his chest tightened and he had to swallow back tears. With his arms around Junior, who was pulling on the neck of his tatty sweater, he sat up.

"Sherlock. She's talking to you," he said through a tight throat.

"Hmm?" the detective groaned, turning and almost knocking the little girl off the bed, luckily, even half asleep his reflexes were extraordinary.

"Dad!" Beth screeched, her small hands grabbing the short sleeves of his t-shirt.

Sherlock pulled her back onto the bed, and stared at her. The moment of fear dissolving to be replace with pure excitement. "Dad, its cwistmas," she bounced.

Sherlock's blue eyes widened and he shot a questioning look over at John, who seemed equally surprised and touched.

"Beth?" John said softly. "Why….did you call Sherlock Dad?"

Beth looked over at her father and frowned, looking at him like he had suddenly sprouted a second head. "Cos, he is," she stated matter-of-factly.

John and Sherlock shared another look. They'd always planned on telling the pair about the unique circumstances of their birth but he'd planned on waiting until they were old enough to understand it. To think that someone had beaten them to it was…..infuriating.

"Who told you that?" John asked, trying to control his temper.

Beth looked between them. "Paul."

"What?" Sherlock frowned. "The boy next door?"

Beth nodded and the two men looked at each other in confusion.

"What…exactly did he say, sweetheart?" John asked gently, not wanting to worry the girl.

Beth straightened her spine and lifted her chin. "He said, he ad two daddy's and they sleep togever. He said 'at if you and Sheerlock sleep togever that I ave two daddy's too."

John and Sherlock stared at each other in awe of the simplest of children.

"Can we ave presents now?"

**~SHERLOCK~**

John and Sherlock followed the children out of the bedroom and into the kitchen. It wasn't all that surprising to find Mrs. Hudson already preparing dinner at six in the morning.

"Morning, Merry Christmas," she announced far too cheerfully, handing the boys warm mugs.

The children grinned, repeated her greeting and then ran to the tree, Sherlock and John hobbling in after them. They were going to be no good till they'd had their morning cupper.

Ten minutes later they were sat on the floor, surrounded once more by colored paper, basking in their children's joy.

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**A/N: Just so we're clear, in case people are confused. Beth and Junior don't know about Sherlock being their biological father, they still call him by his name.**


	9. Chapter 9

**A/N: Okay people, earning my M rating here with some M/M love. As promised. You have been warned, so if you don't like, don't read. Though if you're reading this to start with, I'm guessing you don't have a problem with it. Also this is the last chapter so, enjoy :)**

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**CHAPTER NINE**

Wasn't it always that way? When you wanted the time to go at a snail's pace, it decided to be a cheater and race past. That's what John thought as he sat on the couch of 221 on New Year's Eve. He'd been dreading the date all week, fearing it actually. He'd planned to talk to Sherlock about Irene's threat but as usual with them life got in the way. Christmas day had been spent surrounded by Mrs. Hudson, Mycroft and Harry, Boxing day found them sat in accident and emergency after Junior decided to follow in his father's footsteps and conduct an experiment to see if he could fit one of his new toy cars up his sisters nose why she was sleeping, the three days following that were taken over by a case Sherlock just couldn't put off.

So here he was, New Year's Eve, facing the prospect of losing his family. Part of him kept telling himself that it was an empty threat, that Irene wouldn't go through with it, and even if she tried, Sherlock would never leave him and the kids. - But then there was another part of him knew it wasn't, that Sherlock could easily be persuaded back into Irene's bed. After all they always said that if a man wasn't getting it at home, he looked elsewhere.

He glanced up at the mantel clock. 10:45. Just over an hour to go before one of those theories was proven true. He took a sip of his beer, his third beer in an hour and he'd gone through three more before that. He didn't fail to notice the concerned looks from Sherlock every time he got up for another drink, but he ignored it. If ever there was a time to get hammered this was it.

He glanced around the room at the small gathering; Mrs. Hudson sat in Sherlock's chair listening to Beth sing Jingle Bells for the third time, accompanied by Sherlock on his violin. Junior was sat on the floor by the fire, playing with his cars, which were not stripped of anything that could be inserted anywhere. His usual chair across from Mrs. Hudson was taken up by Molly; Greg sat on the arm, his hand rubbing absently at her back. He was glad they sorted things out and we're back together. They made a nice couple. And would make a wonderful family when Molly popped out the sprog she was carrying in three months' time. It was the perfect picture of family happiness, which only made the prospect of losing it all even worse.

His mind pulled up an image of next New Year. Him alone in a small flat because he'd have to move out, the kids spending the time with Sherlock, because John wouldn't be the kind of person that would keep them apart. It'll be just him, a frozen meal and a bottle of beer, watching the BBC Hogmanay celebrations.

He shook his head. No, that wouldn't happen. He couldn't let that happen. His heart was pounding and he glance back at the clock and was shocked to see that it was 11:15.

John lifted the bottle to his lips only to find the bottle empty, with a moan John got up from the couch and headed silently into the kitchen. He was stood at the sink, staring blindly out of the kitchen window when Sherlock came up behind him.

"Are you alright?" He asked in a low voice that went straight through John.

"Fine," he whispered, lifting the bottle of scotch from the counter. He needed something stronger if he was going to survive tonight.

Sherlock's fingers snaked around his wrist, stopping him. "You've had enough."

The detective didn't know how right he was. John sighed and let go of the bottle, his eyes closed. He'd had enough of the worry and doubt and fear. All he had to do was just turn around and tell Sherlock, kiss him. Do something.

He took a deep breath, bracing himself.

"Dad…Dad…"

Sherlock's hand vanished and by the time John turned, so had the detective. He was back in the front room, Beth in his arms talking to Greg. Rubbing his eyes, John turned towards the bedroom. In the dark of the room, he sat on the edge of Sherlock's bed. Just staring straight ahead, his mind a whirlwind.

**~SHERLOCK~**

"John? - John?"

The doctor looked at the door as it opened to reveal Mrs. Hudson.

"Dearie, what are you doing in here?"

"Just wanted a few moments." John sighed, rubbing the bridge of his nose.

"You've been in here for ages. It's almost midnight, are you coming out to see in the New Year?"

John looked up at her horrified. "What's the time?" he asked, looking down at his watch. "Shit. - Sorry Mrs. Hudson." he leapt off the bed and followed the woman out of the room.

In the front room, Greg and Sherlock sat across from each other, discussing something, probably a case. John glanced around to see Molly sat on the couch with Junior in her lap and Beth laying asleep on the other end. His eyes snapped to the clock as Mrs. Hudson switched on the TV for the traditional countdown and fireworks.

11:58PM

John's heart slammed against his rib and he rushed to the window, looking out expecting to see Irene waiting below, but the street was empty.

He looked at the TV, where the announcer was telling them it was a minute to midnight. He looked out the window again. _See, it was an empty threat, she was just trying to force your hand. Nothing to worry about. _He released a breath though his body was still tense.

Ahhh.

John's head snapped around to stare at Sherlock, who was looking back at him, looking just as surprised at John to hear the sound. John's heart raced at its meaning. He watched Sherlock lift the phone.

"I deleted her number. I know I did," he said, his finger hovering over the screen to open the message.

In the background a crowd was counting down to midnight.

It was like slow motion, Sherlock's thumb lowering, the voices counting down from ten. John's heart pounding painfully against his chest. Mrs. Hudson speaking to him, Greg moving towards Molly to kiss her happy New Year.

John moved without even realizing it, panic and fear propelling him forward towards Sherlock, his hands wrapping into the man's suit jacket. His phone slipping from his hands as John pulled him down, kissing him hard.

Then times started moving again, reality setting in. For a second he was going to pull away, act like nothing had happened, but that would have been the coward's way out and John had never been a coward. It was time to face his fear and his feeling for the man in front of him. He'd been hiding too long. With the decision made he took the chance and deepened the kiss, feeling a wave of relief when Sherlock reciprocated. It was strange, he couldn't deny that, but as weird at it was, it was right. He could feel the weight that had been weighing him down for months, years, finally lift.

Sherlock's hand was on his jaw, his thumb brushing the skin of his cheek. He swallowed the man's moan, forcing Sherlock to swallow his. Finally after what felt like forever, John pulled away.

"Happy New Year," he said hoarsely.

Sherlock stared down at him with wide blue eyes. "Yes. - To you too."

John turned to see everyone staring at him equally as surprised and happy.

"About bloody time," Molly sighed, grinning like the cat who got the cream. Greg and Mrs. Hudson nodding in agreement.

"Now this is worth celebrating," Mrs. Hudson smiled, still holding the tray of champagne and orange juice.

Sherlock bent down to retrieve his phone, and John looked at him with worry as he glanced at the message.

**Message: Withheld Number**

**You're most welcome. **

**Happy New Year boys. **

**Have a great life.**

**Irene**

Sherlock frowned at it, before handing it to John, who burst into laughter.

**~SHERLOCK~**

"What did she say to you John?" Sherlock asked from his bed two hours later.

"Hmm?" John murmured tiredly.

"Irene. I know she must have said something to make you act, what was it?"

"You mean you haven't snuck a look?"

"No. Of course not. I do value your privacy."

John huffed a laugh. "Since when?"

Sherlock fell silent; John glanced over to see the man staring up at the ceiling. Sighing he reached over and switched on the light, before climbing out of the bed and walking to the dresser to retrieve the card. Returning he held it out to Sherlock before climbing back into bed.

Sherlock read the card quickly and sighed, "So you kissed me for fear of losing me."

John looked over, seeing the hurt and doubt in the man's features. Something the detective rarely showed. Throwing back the covers, he marched over to him, drawing back the duvet and got in like it was the most natural thing in the world, like he'd always done so. He grabbed the man's jaw and turned his head to look at him.

"I kissed you because I wanted to. Have since you walked back through the door a year ago. But I've been too scared to, so she forced me to face that fear."

Sherlock narrowed his eyes at the slightly older man. "You know of course that she could never have drawn be away."

John looked doubtful.

"I mean it John," he said firmly, "If she could win me that easily I would have stayed with her in France."

The doctor swallowed hard.

"And that was before we had a family," he added softly, leaning down to brush his lips against John's.

Sherlock angled them so John was forced back onto his pillow, their lips never separating. John found nature taking it course, his hands rising to tangle in Sherlock dark curls, while the detective skimmed over his body to rest at his hips, pulling them together.

After 22 months without sex, it was really no surprised to John that the slightest hint of it now had him hard, despite the fact that he was bricking it. He'd never thought he'd ever want to have sex with another man, but then there were a lot of things he'd never have expected about his life, Sherlock was just one of them.

John shifted underneath Sherlock, lifting his right leg to part the detective's, sliding it up so the man could rub against him. Sherlock's hand slid beneath the hem of his pyjama top to stroke at the heated flesh of John's flank, before sliding down beneath the waistband of his bottoms. He paused when he heard John take a sharp breath, and broke the kiss to look down at him.

"John?"

The doctor didn't answer, choosing instead to pull Sherlock's mouth back down to his and lift his pelvis. Sherlock understood perfectly and allowed his hand to continue it's decent, till his long agile fingers were wrapped around John's hardened flash. They both moaned at the touch long awaited.

John removed his mouth from Sherlock's to nip and suck at the detectives swan like neck, marking the pale cream like skin, so no one would be in any doubt that he belong to someone.

His moan grew loader as Sherlock worked him harder and faster, sending him rocketing towards the finish line, suddenly John's finger cramped around the younger man's wrist, stopping his progress. Panting he looked up at the detective's want in his blue eyes, mirrored back to him in Sherlock's. He knew the mechanic, you couldn't be a doctor without knowing things like this, he just wasn't sure how he was meant to fit into those mechanics. As much as he wanted this, wanted Sherlock, he wasn't sure if he could open himself up to that. Sherlock being the annoying git he was, knew exactly what was going through John's mind, and kissed him lightly, from lips to ear.

"I'll take the bottom bunk," he whispered, running his tongue over the shell of John's ear. "Or we could just stop now?"

"God no," John growled, rolling his hips to make a point. "But we don't have…"

Sherlock leant over him to the bedside table, pulling out the drawer and fishing around in it. John's eyes widened as Sherlock produced the condoms and lube.

"Weren't we being optimistic?" John smirked.

"A gift from Irene. They arrived this morning by courier. I didn't understand why at the time."

"You? Not solving a mystery? Your losing your touch Holmes," John teases.

"Oh really Dr. Watson?" Sherlock smirked, dropping the supplies and snaking his hand back under the covers.

John gave a low moan as Sherlock ran his fingers over the most sensitive part of his erection. "O….K….point….taken."

Sherlock reached down for the item once more and handed them to John with a teasing grin. John moved out from underneath Sherlock.

"Strip."

"I thought you'd never ask," Sherlock murmured, taking a firm grip on the hem of John's shirt and pulling it over his head.

"I meant you," John said lustfully.

"I know."

It didn't take the detective too long to have them both naked. He rolled over onto his back, pulling John with him. The doctor surprised they hadn't fallen out of the bed. If this was going to become a regular thing, they would definitely have to invest in a double. John pushed the covers back and crouched between Sherlock's parted thighs. Slipping on the condom, he coated his fingers in the cold lube and looked at Sherlock.

"You sure?"

The detective raised a brow. "Unless you want me to call Irene."

John glared at him and pressed his index finger into him, causing Sherlock to gasp. "That's not funny Sherlock."

"I was being perfectly serious," he said blandly, gasping again as John pushed in another fingers, with a warning look in his eyes.

Sherlock laughed and let his head drop back against the pillow. John didn't rush his preparation, loving the way Sherlock moaned and jerked at his touch.

"John. For God's sake!" Sherlock cried.

"Still want to call Irene?"

"N-no….Never. - John."

Both men held their breaths as John positioned himself against Sherlock. It was the most incredible sensation of his life when he pushed himself into the tightness. The friction alone almost sending him over the edge. His fingers bit into the back of Sherlock's thighs as he pushed them back, giving him better access.

The first time he hit Sherlock's prostate, the man practically leapt off the bed and John grinned triumphantly and did it again - and again, till Sherlock was gasping and moaning and crying out. John felt his climax approaching. Quickly he took hold of Sherlock's achingly hard member and began to stroke, keeping pace with his own movements.

When Sherlock came first, John felt like the king of the world and arrogantly picked up speed. Three thrusts and it was over, the world exploded into white light. Collapsing on top of Sherlock, he wondered why the hell he'd waiting so damn long. Rolling off of the lanky man they shifted so they could both fit on the single bed. John pulling up the duvet to cover their slick and sticky skin as the heat began to die. Laying there in the dark, tiredness slowly sneaking up on them, Sherlock slowly rolled onto his side, the covers pulled up over his naked shoulder.

"Well…" he mumbled sleepily. "…that certainly set the new year off with a bang."

John laughed, nudging the detective as he settled his head in the dip of the doctor's shoulder. "Prat."

**The End.**

* * *

**A/N: Okay, people, you should know by now I always try to end on a high and a joke as I don't really do endings. I also don't do I love you, as the boys know how they feel about each other, as do we. Now please don't ask for another follow up as I won't be writing one. – But I MIGHT (and I mean **_**MIGHT**_**) add a couple of Epilogue-ish chapter to this story later on. But please don't hold me to that, it depends on whether I think of anything involving the boys and their kids. As it is though, this really is the end of the story. **

**I would like to thank everyone for their wonderful reviews, the feedback is always welcome and appreciated. And a big thank you for following this story. **

**Lastly I'd like to say a huge THANK YOU SO MUCH to my wonder beta Saysesydo. You're a life saver and a great help. **

**So that's all from me for now. Hopefully I'll be back again with another Johnlock story. But in the meantime, stay happy and safe, and don't forget to BELIEVE IN SHERLOCK. **

**GATERGIRL79 signing off. xxx**


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